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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27730567">Say I Love You When You're Not Listening</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mageicalwishes/pseuds/mageicalwishes'>mageicalwishes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Carry On Countdown 2020 [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Book 2: Wayward Son, Carry On Countdown 2020 (Simon Snow), Carry On Countdown Day 2, Distance, Heavy Angst, M/M, Relationship Issues</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:28:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,367</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27730567</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mageicalwishes/pseuds/mageicalwishes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Baz reflects on the events of Wayward Son, and the hopelessness he feels.<br/>"A trip to try and save him - To save us. A last ditch effort to put some of the sunshine back in to his soul.<br/>Rammed together in economy, the press of his knee firm against mine, but his mind miles away. His eyes ever averted. Touching yet so far apart. I just wish I knew where I went wrong."<br/>Carry On Countdown, Day 2 - Distance</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch &amp; Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Carry On Countdown 2020 [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027147</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Carry On Countdown 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Say I Love You When You're Not Listening</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title is from Christina Perri's song 'Distance' which I listened to while writing, and reminds me of Wayward Son Snowbaz :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u"> <strong>Baz </strong> </span>
</p><p><span class="u"></span>I don’t know how we got to this point. To separate rooms and separate taxis. To separate lives, soon enough, no doubt. I was naïve to think - to hope for better. </p><p> </p><p>We spent <em>years </em>separated by six inches of floor space and the pressure of familial disagreements. By stupid squabbles and punches that I wish I could take back. <em> Years </em>of wanting him from afar, wobbling along the line between who I <em> should </em> be (Who I <em> should </em>want), and what I really was - Pitifully in love with the Mage’s hair. With his wild curls and stubborn persistence. His splattered skin and his beaming smile (Even though it was never aimed at me). </p><p>A creature of the night in love with the sun. How <em>hopeless</em> it all was. <em>Untouchable Simon Snow</em> <em>- </em>How he tore me up inside. </p><p> </p><p>But then came that brief, <em> shining </em> interlude where I thought maybe - <em> Just maybe </em> - it wasn’t so hopeless, after all. </p><p>A Christmas Eve full of new beginnings - Rolling around on the floor of my childhood bedroom, chests and hands and lips pressed together, over and over. Fire dancing across my skin as he held me, but leaving no scorch marks. The closing of that <em> unbearable </em>distance with whispered confessions of truths I never dared to tell. The realisation of all my foolish fantasies. </p><p>And later, after everything we’d been through - Everything <em> he’d </em> been through - that newly formed relationship remained. A weak little sapling peeking through the rubble and ruin in spite of it all, a promise of better things to come. </p><p>Evenings spent wrapped around one another on the sofa, private smiles just for me, holding him close at night and finally easing the unceasing bone-deep chill. Touching him, kissing him, holding him, <em>having </em> him. Mine. <em> Finally mine. </em> Happy and warm and safe and <em>loved.</em> </p><p> </p><p>I suppose that I should’ve seen it coming - The withdrawal. The reality is that neither of us have had much experience with those marvellous states of being. We didn’t know how to <em>be</em> without a fight - With hope and time and security and love, on our side. <em> We never learnt.  </em></p><p>In hindsight, it was foolish to think that we could build something strong - Something stable and durable - without that foundation. Without addressing … everything, both between us <em>and</em> as individuals.</p><p>We tried, of course - On <em> everything, </em> I <em> swear </em> that I gave it my all (And I know that he did too). </p><p>I <em>tried</em> to give him what he needed. Tried to love him in a way that he could handle - That didn’t suffocate him. Squishing my feelings down as not to scare him away. Reassuring him in <em>any</em> way that I could that I was in it for the long run. That I didn’t love his magic, or his prophecy, or all the greatness that he was promised - I just loved <em> him. </em> Simon Snow. <em> Exactly </em> as he was. But ... I don’t think he heard me. <em> Not really.  </em></p><p>He agreed to see the therapist that Dr Wellbelove recommended, in the hopes that it would help him cope, but it wasn’t right for him. </p><p>We <em>tried</em> to talk. We <em>tried</em> to pretend that we were alright. We <em>tried </em>to power through. Both of us scrabbled desperately to save what we had. Nevertheless ... I suppose that Love makes a fool of us all, in the end.</p><p>It started out small - With slight hesitation when I clung to him too fervently, with stuttering breaths when I came to close, and the dropping of my hand when I held on too long - but it soon grew.</p><p>He needed more distance, and so ... I gave it to him. </p><p> </p><p>A trip to try and save him - To save <em> us. </em> A last ditch effort to put some of the sunshine back in to his soul. </p><p>Rammed together in economy, the press of his knee firm against mine, but his mind miles away. His eyes ever averted. Touching yet so far apart. I just <em> wish </em>I knew where I went wrong. </p><p>At first, I thought that it would work. </p><p>In the heat of the desert, watching him beam. His overgrown curls tousled by the wind, that long-lost smile breaking across his face, him howling and singing under the sun. Shouting my adoration, even though I knew he couldn't hear it. Here, I believed.</p><p>Crowded up against the car door, bodies pressed together, with his hands grabbing at my hips. His lips on mine, and the world around us temporarily forgotten. Adrenaline flooding our veins - Finally <em>alive, alive, alive.</em> A tantalising glimpse of what could be. Here, I still believed. </p><p>“Ride with me. There are stars.” The ghost of the night that remade us hung heavy in his barely-there words - <em>Stars.</em> He pressed me into the truck floor with his weight, thighs squeezing against mine as his fingers slid through my hair. My throat knotted thick, as I shivered beneath him, overcome by our closeness. Desperately clutching at the heat of his skin, savouring the feel of him against me a moment longer. My cheek to his neck. His head to my chest. Hearts beating close together. Even then, in this fleeting moment, I believed.</p><p>But as the days dragged on and on, and the happy moments became long since passed memories, my hope slowly faded. And soon enough, I was forced to confront the grim reality that maybe there just was no <em> fixing </em>this - No matter how much I wished it so.</p><p> </p><p>Locked in the bathroom, building myself up for a measly kiss on the cheek. Staring at myself blankly in the steamed-up mirror, hardly recognizing the shell wincing back at me - Nose charred, skin pale, and joy gone. Desperately hoping that my unquenchable greed - That hollow, desperate loneliness - wouldn’t mess things up further. That what was once a simple, inconsequential act wouldn’t be the straw that broke the camel’s back. “Goodnight, Simon”, I had whispered. How many more nights we’d get to spend together - That I’d be lulled to sleep by the steady huffs of his breath - I didn’t know. And I didn’t dare ask.</p><p>My chest torn and bloodied. Red staining the scuzzy motel bathtub, but too exhausted to cast a cleaning spell. My love, gawking, open-mouthed at the sight of me, hands twitching by his sides, ready to reach out - An intention gone heartbreakingly undelivered. “It’s fine, Simon. It’ll heal.”<em> I wish we would too.  </em></p><p>Sobbing on the sand, the sky above us hanging dull and grey. He was trying to … I know what it was. I know what he was <em>doing</em>. “When someone shows you who they are, believe them”. </p><p>Well, I’ve <em> seen </em> who he is - The good <em>and</em> the bad - and I want him no less. I’m shouting, begging, <em> pleading </em> for him to just <em>understand</em> - Giving him what little left of me there is. I <em>wouldn’t</em> be happier anywhere else. I <em> wouldn’t </em> be happier without him in my life. </p><p>And then came Bunce, smashing into our own private storm with news of ‘Trouble’ at Watford and summoning us back home. Dragging us back into the fight. Back into the war. </p><p> </p><p>I got too close, and I burnt. We’re broken, and I don’t know how to fix it. He’s slipping through my fingers, and I’m utterly <em> powerless </em> to stop it. </p><p>I’ve mastered magic - Successfully bending language to do my bidding - but I can’t find the words to make him <em> stay. </em>Can’t find the words to make him finally just <em>see</em> all that he is to me.</p><p>I’d tell him that I love him, if I thought that he’d want to hear it. If I thought those words were big enough. I’ve done it before; but only when he wasn’t listening - When he was snoring next to me, or singing to himself in the shower. From across the room, or when I’m safe behind closed doors. I’d do it right now, without hesitation, if I thought it would help. I'd mean <em>every</em> word of it. But ... I think we’re past that now. </p><p>So, here I am, slumped in the back of some wretched taxi cab, with Bunce muttering soothing words into my shoulder as I sob into the sleeve of my one remaining shirt. <em>Hopeless. Broken. Over. </em></p><p>
  <em> Dear God, I need a miracle.  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry this one is so sad aha! As miserable as it may be, I thought it was fitting given the state of Baz and Simon's relationship in Wayward Son.<br/>Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed :) Comments and kudos, appreciated.<br/>My Tumblr: <a href="https://mageicalwishes.tumblr.com/">Link text</a><br/></p></blockquote></div></div>
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